The facts: my op (the second impolite invasion on my poorly pathetic brain with the aim to drain a cyst, remove some leftover tumour and do enough repairs that there may never be a need for more surgery later in life) was scheduled for Friday 15th May, which meant I'd be admitted Thursday 14th and not sleeping until Wednesday 20th (as that would probably be the earliest I could be released back into the world and back to my lush new double bed)... It's been pushed back. Like a casual check-up 'n' clean at the dentists or an online food shop delivery. Not like brain surgery. People use the term 'c'mon, it's not brain surgery!' for a reason.
I nervously slid right and accepted a call despite the words 'No Caller ID' lighting up my screen – I've learned in the past year that 'No Caller ID' means 'hospital and urgent' or 'robots taking over the world' – and as suspected it was my surgeon's secretary with 'important news'.
Apparently there's a shortage of beds in the ITU (the unit I'd be put in after the op and the post-op MRI scans for one night at least). I had heard this could happen last time, which is why they don't always let you know when to come in until the day you should come in... I suppose I was luckier last time. As lucky as I could be.
Due to the shortage of beds, I'm having to be delayed until Friday 22nd May – or 'hopefully Monday 18th if all goes well'. I reassured the nice yet brusque secretary that it was all cool, I was in no rush, I'm happy to wait – this was all instinct. When I thought it over after hanging up, I realised I wasn't cool with it, I was in a rush, I'm not happy to wait. I want it done and over with! I've prepared! For the past five weeks I've been working as hard as I can before being signed off, I've been cramming every spare hour with fun activities and catch-ups with friends – right now I am sitting on the sofa at my boyfriend's watching TV and winding down after a couple of mad social days in Winchester, my old home.
It's been hard being so full-on and active lately. I can't pretend I'm still leaping out of bed every morning – actually, I've never leapt out of bed in the morning even when I'm perfectly well, unless there was an especially fantastic day ahead or a delicious breakfast awaiting me downstairs. My body is shutting down, slowly but surely. It's like my body was suspicious that it was not quite right, not 100% well – then after an investigation, it was confirmed by medical professionals. Yes, Grace, you are ill. Your body is not okay. Specifically, your stupid head. But your body is suffering, too. For weeks now my body has been struggling on, and now I can almost hear it begging for rest and recuperation. I worry that if I let it rest, if I just snuggle down on the sofa under a blanket, then I may not move again until I have to be taken to hospital. Pfffttt. I'll rest when I'm repaired.
Maybe if I forgo a fair bit of sleep now, that means when I'm stuck on a ward with wacky old women, I'll be catching up on that sleep and so completely dead to the world for 20 hours a day. See? Logic.
I am disappointed that I'm being delayed. If they call me last minute on Thursday morning, though, telling me that space freed up and I have to come in post-haste, I'll be fuming. I don't take kindly to being messed around – ask any guy I've dated, they probably still have the bruises to attest to that. Then again, if the hospital does indeed rearrange the op for Friday 22nd, I'll be fuming even harder. Fumes will be spewing out of my ears – they'll smoke out the cyst in my brain. No, I'll take Monday 18th, please. That is a compromise I can make.
At least, that is unless my surgeon (who I've been assured hates that I'm being pushed back and is piling on the pressure to get me in quicker) tells me face-to-face in his kindest tones that it's necessary... I'd soften and go along with anything. That man is a god.
So, expect more updates, readers. I've made myself a little vow that I'll be writing more these next few weeks anyway (as and when I can) and hopefully about more positive things.
I am still feeling and being positive, by the way – it gets hard sometimes, maintaining a smile and a can-do attitude about all this, but I do my best and for the most part, it works. I've had my breakdowns, and I'm back on my rollercoaster going steadily up. So stay positive with me, please my dears. Keep sending happy thoughts and warm hugs, and please keep making jokes. Over and out.